Surviving Chaos
Page 19
“How many of them are there?” said Georgia.
“Three. Two main guys. One’s kind of the idiot lackey. And there’s this other guy. He’s huge but he doesn’t seem to talk. They communicate with him in sign language.”
“Mom,” said Sadie. “Do you think that’s what happened to Mandy?”
“Who’s Mandy?” said Rose.
“One of our friends,” said Georgia. “She disappeared today.” She didn’t mention Max and James. She still didn’t trust Rose and Jake fully. But they were gaining her trust quickly, and she was letting her guard down.
Jake and Rose exchanged a nervous glance.
“Do you know anything about that?” said Georgia, eyeing them.
“No,” said Rose. “Our van is a good ways away from their farm.”
“You say farm, but isn’t it too cold now to grow anything?”
“They have some special strain, I think,” said Rose.
Georgia nodded. “They beat you two up. But do you know why they’d kidnap someone? What would their motive be?”
“Who knows,” said Jake. “They’re pretty delusional. They keep talking about how they’ll be rich once the power comes back on…”
“They’ve talked about taking me and forcing me to work on their farm,” said Rose. “Free labor, you know.”
“Why didn’t they then?”
“I think they thought we’d find food if they left us on our own,” said Jake. “Not that we’ve had much luck with that. Just bits and pieces here and there. Nothing substantial.”
“In reality,” said Rose, “I think they just like having someone to come torment.”
“But they could do that easily enough if they made us their slaves,” said Jake. He paused for a moment, as if thinking deeply. “Nothing they do really makes a whole lot of sense, though. So I wouldn’t read too much into it. But about your friend… the answer is yes. I think that if something happened to her, it was likely these guys.”
Georgia nodded.
It was a lot to take in. But it sounded like Jake was right. It was probably the pot farmers that had gotten to Mandy.
“Well,” said Jake, folding his hands together. “We came looking for help, but it seems as if your friend needs more help than us. We have it comparatively easy.”
“I hate to think of her being forced to work on that horrible farm of theirs,” said Rose.
“I’m sorry we can’t be of any help,” said Jake. “But we can’t defend ourselves against them. I don’t know what we could do.”
Georgia thought to herself that if that was their attitude, they’d have a hard time no matter where they were. They had it comparatively easy, if some dangerous pot farmers were all they had to contend with. If they’d been anywhere else, they’d already be dead. Not that this wasn’t an area with the potential to be as dangerous as any. And not that the pot farmers weren’t a serious danger.
To Mandy, mostly.
“Max and James are already headed there,” said Sadie, piping up.
Georgia groaned inwardly. She hadn’t wanted to divulge the existence of Max and James yet. She didn’t yet completely trust these two newcomers.
“Who are Max and James?” said Rose.
Sadie must have seen the way Georgia had looked at her, so she said, “Nobody.”
“Well,” said Georgia. “The cat’s out the bag. They’re with us, and they’re headed to rescue our friend Mandy. Hopefully they’ve found her by now.”
Rose looked startled at the mention of two new people.
But Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Shit,” he muttered.
“What is it?”
“They’re going to run into problems if they reach that farm,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t worry about them,” said Sadie excitedly. “They know what they’re doing. You should see Max… he can take down anyone.”
“That’s not true, Sadie,” said Georgia. “But we do have confidence that they’re up to the job.”
“The only thing,” said Jake, worry on his face, “is that that farm is booby trapped like crazy.”
“Booby trapped?”
“Yeah, they’ve got it set up where they’ll know if someone’s coming before they get anywhere near it.”
Sadie shot Georgia a worried look.
“How do you know?” said Georgia.
“They told me,” said Jake. “They told me not to get any ideas, not to sneak onto their place, because they’d shoot me in the stomach before I was anywhere near there… They said they had the whole place rigged up. And they said not to worry, that EMP hadn’t affected their defense at all. Shit, I wish there was some way we could warn your friends. It’s times like these you really wish cell phones still worked, right?”
Georgia didn’t say anything. She bit her lip in worry.
And she wasn’t the type to get worried.
At least not easily.
“Is James going to be OK, Mom?” said Sadie, tugging on her sleeve.
“He’s with Max,” said Georgia.
28
John
He’d almost gotten them both killed in the process, but John had gotten the radio.
Cynthia hadn’t even gotten off the dirt bike. She’d sat on it, gun in hand, screaming at him to hurry up.
It hadn’t been easy. Cynthia had left the radio buried in the pack. And he’d had to really dig through it to get the radio out.
He’d hopped back on the bike, and his leg had barely been over it, when Cynthia had gunned it and they’d sped off.
John’d had just enough time, as he’d run back to the dirt bike, to shove the radio into his own bag. He’d had to ditch a few things that’d been packed into the top. He hadn’t even registered what they were, and he hoped he wouldn’t need them later.
Maybe it’d been stupid. Maybe it’d been completely idiotic.
But he was hoping against hope that somehow the radio would be helpful in the long run. Risks and danger were worth it. So long as they survived. And so long as it paid off in the end.
At the very least, the radio would be valuable. Valuable for bartering.
So long as they eventually found someone they could barter with. Someone who wouldn’t just attack them outright. Not friends, necessarily, like Dale. Just neutral people. Surely they had to exist.
Somewhere.
The ride was bumpy. Rough and chaotic.
A couple near misses with trees. Cynthia was cutting it close, taking risks and making sharp turns.
He hoped she knew what she was doing. She was probably the last person in the world he’d expect to have known how to ride a dirt bike. Let alone handle one the way she was handling it. The guys behind them could barely keep up.
But they were keeping up.
And that was the problem.
John had to take action.
He turned his head. It was hard to see behind him, with his pack.
He couldn’t ditch it. It was all they had left.
Of course, if it came down to them dying, then he’d ditch the pack. But they weren’t there yet.
He hoped.
John had his gun out, one hand stretched out behind him.
He had one spare magazine within reach. The rest of the ammo was in the pack. It wouldn’t be possible to get it out.
“I’m going to try to shoot them,” shouted John. But his voice was drowned out by the whine of the motor and the rushing wind.
He didn’t know how fast they were going. But it was fast.
Too fast and too bumpy to get off a good shot. He had a realistic understanding of his abilities. Most likely, once he started firing, he’d just be wasting ammo.
But he had to try.
After all, they had one unusual advantage. There were two of them on the bike. Not just one.
But just as John was thinking he had the upper hand, he turned his head again and saw a dirt bike getting close. Really close. And the rider had a handgun out.
Shit. It was an automatic. Or semi-automatic? An Uzi? John didn’t know. He was learning about guns with only hands-on experience. He didn’t have any manuals. Or the internet.
But the bullets that began spraying out confirmed his suspicions. It may not have been an Uzi. But it was definitely automatic in the sense that it was firing more bullets than John’s own gun could. Much more dangerous.
“Go!” shouted John. “Turn!”
He didn’t know if Cynthia heard him or not. It was hard to tell.
But she turned anyway. Maybe she’d heard the gunfire. Hopefully.
Their knees almost scraped the dirt as Cynthia turned the bike sharply to the right.
John tried to keep his hand straight and steady. He breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself down. He needed a clear head. Anything else would just make him a worse shot.
The militia man wasn’t wearing a helmet.
But John didn’t go for the head. He aimed for the chest. It was a bigger target.
Back on a relatively straight course, John pulled the trigger. He thought he had the shot.
But it missed.
He pulled the trigger.
Once more.
Twice.
It was the third shot that hit him. Right in the chest.
The militia dirt bike went completely out of control, slamming right into a tree. The sound was tremendous.
There were two more.
John’d been hoping the second bike would crash into the first one. But no such luck. The first had gone so far off the “path” that the second one just zoomed on by, as if nothing had even happened.
John saw a sawed-off shotgun appear in the man’s hand. It seemed to happen in slow motion. It was close, too.
John acted instinctually. He pulled the trigger. Three times in quick succession.
He didn’t know which shots had hit and which hadn’t.
The only important thing was that the rider slumped over, dead, or almost dead. His bike ran off course lazily.
Cynthia took another sharp turn. John felt his knee scraping the ground.
When the bike was upright again, he turned back to look.
The third bike had stopped in its tracks. As Cynthia and John sped along, it disappeared into the distance.
They rode and rode, not stopping, not pausing.
Minutes passed. John kept checking over his shoulder.
He was expecting the third dirt bike to appear.
Actually, he was hoping it would appear.
It would mean more danger. More risk. But if he could take him out, then they’d be safer in the long run. As it stood now, there was someone dangerous out there who wanted them dead. Someone who worked for a dangerous militia, possibly in the process of expanding to more remote corners of the state. And beyond. States didn’t mean anything anymore, after all.
The minutes turned into hours.
Finally, they were out of gas. Night was starting to fall.
They’d made it out of the woods, across a paved road, and back into another forested area. Then across another road. And the same thing over and over again.
When there was no more gas, they coasted to a stop. John put his feet down, as did Cynthia, to keep the bike from toppling over.
John hadn’t let go of his gun. His back was sore from riding with the backpack.
He’d probably killed two men. And he felt nothing.
Nothing except the continuing will to survive.
“Not bad riding, eh?” said Cynthia, flashing John a grin as she got off the dirt bike.
“I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” said John.
“Seen it? You lived it.”
“You sure can ride that thing…”
Cynthia paused for a long while, suddenly seeming to get lost in her own thoughts. “So what now? Any idea where we are?”
John looked around. “Nope,” he said. “I don’t have the slightest clue.”
“I guess this is as good of a place as any to set up camp, then.”
“Well, we might want to leave the dirt bike behind. Someone could easily follow the tire tracks.”
“Good point. Hand me a water, will you?”
John opened the backpack, dug past Dale’s radio, and found a bottle of water. He handed it to Cynthia, who took a long drink and handed it back. He put the bottle to his mouth, and let the cool water flow past his lips. He’d never tasted anything better.
He looked around, and the forest seemed to appear more beautiful than it ever had to him. Maybe it was just the thrill of being alive.
“Come on,” said John. “We’re losing light.”
He shouldered his pack and set off. Cynthia followed him. They kept their guns out, and looked over their shoulders periodically as they walked.
But John didn’t feel nervous.
He didn’t know why, but he felt calm. The sort of calm he’d never known before the EMP. It was almost like he was now, for the first time in his life, really alive.
29
Max
Nearby, there was a field of what looked like marijuana plants. They were tall, green, and almost wild looking, with their distinctive leaves poking out in all directions.
They were dealing with dangerous people. These were professional pot farmers, likely hardened criminals even before the EMP. And now, with no semblance of law, they’d be even more dangerous, even more free to create their own perverted justice.
Max had read the stories of hikers disappearing in state parks. They’d stumbled upon fields of pot, and been simply executed on the spot for their ignorance.
“Uh, Max,” whispered James urgently.
“Yeah?”
“I think I stepped on something.”
Max knew James wouldn’t have bothered to say something unless it was urgent. After all, they could be spotted at any moment. They were only getting closer to the tent.
“What’d you step on?”
“Some kind of wire. Take a look.”
Max glanced briefly down at James’s foot. Sure enough, there was a wire there.
Max knew instantly what it was. James had been right to tell him, rather than ignore it. It was some kind of trip wire that would alert someone to their presence. It was too much to hope that it’d been deactivated by the EMP. There were a hundred other ways to design a trip wire that didn’t rely on electronics.
So Max didn’t hope. He acted.
“Down!” whispered Max.
They both threw themselves down on the ground at exactly the right moment.
A loud crack rang out. A rifle shot.
There were a couple tree stumps nearby. Max gestured to James, and they both crawled on their bellies over to the stumps, keeping their bodies as close to the ground as they could.
The tent was in view. Max scanned the area, but at first he saw no one.
Then he spotted it. He could just see the head of the man, his tousled hair lying on the ground. He couldn’t see the rest of him, except for part of his rifle. And he was far off.
Max wouldn’t be able to get off a clean shot. Not with a handgun. The distance was too great.
It seemed hopeless. Surely there were others. Surely they stood no chance.
But Mandy was there.
They had to get Mandy.
Max had to make an impossible decision.
He made it fast.
The odds were stacked against them. It seemed impossible. It was a suicide mission. But it was one that Max had to follow through on. He simply couldn’t leave Mandy there.
But while he could throw his own life away, he couldn’t sacrifice James’s, too.
“James,” said Max, his tone commanding. “I’m doing this alone. It’s too dangerous. Head back to your mom and sister.”
“And let you go in alone?” said James.
�
�Yeah. And I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
“Tough luck,” said James.
In that instant, James sprang up from the ground. Gun in hand, he dashed towards the pot field.
He was running fast, sprinting, his feet hitting the ground hard. But he was an easy target for the man with the rifle.
Another crack of the rifle. Loud.
Max’s heart stopped for a moment.
He watched, waiting for James to fall.
But he didn’t. The man with the rifle had missed.
James had gotten into the field alive. He disappeared into it. Even Max couldn’t see him. He was safe for now. But he’d probably do something else stupid soon enough.
Max wouldn’t be able to face Georgia if he got her son killed.
That idiot!
But Max shouldn’t have expected him to act any differently. In fact, if Max had been in James’s place, he would have done exactly the same thing.
If Max didn’t act soon, James would get himself killed.
Max tried to ignore the pain in his leg. His hand gripped his gun tightly.
Not much ammo left. But he tried not to think about that.
Max’s eyes scanned the surrounding area. The marijuana field led almost up to the tent. What James was likely planning was to sneak all the way to the end of it, and then attack the man with the rifle, who was lying there near the tent.
The only problem was that it was obvious. Too obvious. Unless the man with the rifle was a complete dunce, he’d come to the same conclusion as Max.
There was some shouting near the tent. So there was definitely more than just one of them.
If Max got up and ran to the tent, he’d be shot dead. No question.
If he ran to the field, he might be shot dead. He wasn’t as fast as James. Not with his leg.
The only thing to do was wait until James made his move, and then try to distract the man with the rifle.
He just hoped that whoever else was there wouldn’t cause too much of a problem.
And that was too much to hope for.
It happened fast. Too fast.
James burst out of the field, sprinting straight to the tent.